The Good Man
by Video-game-addict
Summary: Another of Jigsaw's games, with a twist: Including an innocent person. Rated T for language. Complete, will add epiloge at request. R&R!
1. The Game Begins

**_--- -A/N- Just updated, taken advice from reviews. Reread everything for it to all make sense (Rules have changed a bit). R&R, please! ---_**

John woke up suddenly, in a dark, unfamiliar place. He bolted upright, looking around. He was in something that had been abandoned, alright. It had been abandoned for a while, based off of the looks of it. It may have been a hospital room at one point, the floors and walls were tiled. Everything was dirty, like it hadn't been used in years. The lights came from above, but something was blocking their way, making eerie shadows in the room. Whatever was blocking them had a glare on it, and it was hitting John in the face. There was a counter to the left of him, and two doors.

"Hey, the other guy's up."

John spun around, and found two other men in the room with him. They were dressed in business suits, and looked as if they had been tied to a horse that dragged them along the ground for miles. The one on the left was a bit overweight, and sat there staring. The other one was a bit livelier, and was talking, and yanking on something— he was chained by his two legs and the right arm to some kind of metal contraption, and he notcied the other man was as well.

Each of the chains was connected to the wall. The ones connected to their legs were connected where the wall met the ground, about a foot apart. The arms were chained higher up, about two feet up off the ground. The chains were set about three feet apart. John noticed something that bothered him: There was alot of old, dried pooled blood where the two men were sitting.

"Wha—what?" John asked.

"I said, get the tape!" The man barked back.

"Wh—what tape?" John asked.

"F-ing retard!" the man said. "Behind you!" he yelled.

"And just who the hell are you?" John asked.

"Hotel tycoon Michael Burnhurst. Just get the tape."

John turned around and looked at the counter. Sure enough, there was a tape on it, along with a tape player. He put the two together, and hit play. The eerie voice played:

"Hello there. I'd like to play a game."

"Great..." Michael said.

"Hotel tycoons Michael Burnhurst and Timmothy Johnstein, I have seen what you have done. What you have done to that poor man. Jimmy Steinbeck, was it? He was a guest of yours, at your hotel. You knew he was a millionaire, and when he booked that playboy suite you couldn't resist, could you?"

Michael turned pale. White, even. He was the whitest thing in the filthy, dark room. "No...No!" Michael shouted. The tape didn't stop for him.

"You pretended to be trapped underneath your car, didn't you? You asked for his help then, didn't you? And what happened then? Refresh my memory, please."

There was a pause for a minute.

"Ah, yes," It continued. "You pulled him under the car. You ran him over, and stuck his legs in the engine underneath, right. And nailed his arms to the tires. And to make sure he didn't say anything...you slit his throat just enough to silence him, but you intentionally missed is major arteries. After that, you have no right to call me merciless.

"Rules of the game. One, there shall be no cheating. Cheating results in a slow, painful and nearly inevitable death. Two, there must be somebody chained up to the wall at all times. The sets can fit either one or two.

"Three. One person in here is innocent. See to it that the guilty are punished, but the innocent isn't harmed at all. You see two doors here. The one on the wall to your right leads to freedom. The one on the wall in fron of you leads to the 200 million dollars that you guys stole. In cash. Do not go in there, whatever you do. Rule number four, is to choose wisely. In fifteen minutes whoever is in this room will die. How, you ask? Simple. Do you see above you the steak knives? Like the kind you used to silence poor Jimmy Steinbeck? There are 400 of them right above you, and they will all drop the instant the timer runs out, or if the chains are not holding something for more than fifteen seconds. The keys are in John's pockets. He has the choice to let you live. Protect him, for he is innocent. He is a good man, and always helps someone in need. You have fifteen minutes, gentlemen. Follow the rules."

John looked up and got a good look at what was in blocking the lights above, and was overcome by fear. He nearly puked, the fear was so bad. He sat there, stunned. Was he really expected to make such a decision? To help these people escape?


	2. Game Over for One

John bolted upright. He looked ahead, straight at the door in front of him. Was the Jigsaw Killer really going to let him off that easy? He got up, and walked over towards it. He turned the handle...and it actually worked! No key needed! He went to push and...

"Damn you, Jigsaw," He said. He tried to push again and again, with no luck. "This door is going to require at least two people to push open... he made sure..." He trailed off in frustration. He punched the door.

"Hey, dumbass, let us go!" Michael said. "The keys are right there on the floor!"

"How long will it take to get the door open?" John snapped back. "Less than fifteen seconds? I think not, and I personally don't feel like dying. Look above us. There is a steel cage, a huge mess of wires and bars mixed with steak knives. I can't keep track of what goes where there are so many knives up there! And they're going to fall on us if we don't get out of here in fifteen minutes, or if there isn't someone chained up after fifteen seconds! What are we supposed to do?"

"Let us go," Michael said. "We'll undo one at a time, and chain you up to it. As soon as me and Tim get out of these chains, we'll both use our strength to knock down the door. Then, we'll unchain you and get the hell outta here!"

John reluctantly agreed. He unchained Michael's left hand, and put his own hand in the chain. He did the same with his legs, and then finally his right arm. They repeated the process with Tim.

"Thanks," Michael said. "How much time we got left?"

"About 6 minutes...why?" John asked.

Michael walked over to the door...the wrong one, the one that lead to his two hundred million.

"M-Michael," Tim said. It was the first time John had heard it, and it sounded a bit raspy. "What the hell are you doing? That Jigsaw guy said not to—"

"Screw Jigsaw," he said. "He has my money in here, and I'm gonna get it."

He walked up to the door, and turned the knob. He hesitated, as if expecting a trap, then pushed. John watched as Michael pushed the door open into a closet, which had two breifcases in it. He also happened to look to the ceiling, and saw that the Jigsaw killer had really meant it when he said "Do not go in that room."

As the door opened, some of the metal bars began to move. An entire wall of the material holding the knives above began to fall behind Micheal, trapping him inside. He tried to stop it, but it was too late, and it was moving too fast. John only then also noticed that the container for them was slightly tilted in that direction, and the knives began to slide out, and fast. They piled on top of Michael, slicing him in every which way.

Michael was pinned, and he knew what had happened: he had broken the rules, and as Jigsaw had promised, he was left to a slow, painful inevitable death. He cried out, and wished that John would do something for him. Even Tim, who he had forced to kill Jimmy, he hoped would help.

"Sorry, Michael," Tim said. "You broke the rules."

Michael sat there, stunned, pinned in a position that was driving knives into him, slowly going through him, but not yet killing him. He turned his head, and in doing so, he sliced off most of his forehead and his left ear. He used his right hand, which was still in the closet and not completely pinned, to reach the case. He managed to get the clip undone, yet he couldn't open it. He gasped out in pain, the knives were getting worse now. He only wanted his money, and he wanted it whether he would have to die for it or not. He managed to drag the case over to him with the handle, and the breifcase dropped. He could only watch as the case fell open, and $200,000,000 in cash fell out, stained red with blood.

He yelled out in anger, and tried to move, tried to rampage his way out. The knives only shifted, and fell more. He was slowly being diced into peices, and knives were being driven into him deep enough so that they could not be removed. He was thrashing, and the knives only served to do more damage. He even at one point sliced his eyes, and went to move into fetal position from the pain. The knives drove themselves in even deeper, and slowly, and painfully, Michael Burnhurst died, just as promised.

"T-Tim!" John cried. "Get me out of these!" he yelled.

"How am I supposed to do that?" he asked. "After fifteen seconds the knives above us will..."

He trailed off looking at the ceiling, where at the knives were no longer stored. The had all either fallen on Michael or were down on that end. He realized that it didn't matter that the knives would fall, because they wouldn't fall on him.

He got the keys and began to undo the chains around John. After he got the second one, he heard a noise that made both of them jump. The gate above them opened, and the knives fell on the otherside of the room. The wall that had trapped Michael was still in tact, though, and still held him in there.

Tim finally got John undone, and they spent about ten minutes trying to break down the door. They finally got it, and walked into a room, a pitch-black room, lit only by the lights of the room from which they had just escaped.

A TV switched on, and showed a man with a clown mask.

"Congratulations. You followed the rules, and won. But now, its time for Round Two."


	3. Fountain of Death

"You followed the rules," Jigsaw said. "But Michael didn't. What happens when you break the rules?" He paused a minute.

"Answer me!" He yelled back. John and Tim were shocked to think that Jigsaw could actually see them.

"You die," John said. "A slow, painful, inevitable death! You die! Now what the hell is going on? You've never had a round two before! We won, we survived!"

"Yes," Jigsaw replied. "But not quite. You won by default. If someone cheats, then everyone else they're with automatically wins. You must earn your right to live, to leave, to survive in my little game."

Jigsaw laughed, and the TV turned off.

"What? Jigsaw!" John yelled out in anger, into the darkness that then engulfed them. He heard a faint hissing sound, and slowly started loosing his strength. He became light headed, and then just passed out.

When he awoke, he had no idea where he was. He was in a small chamber, only about three feet wide and tall, and about five feet long. The wall on his right was made of glass, but it was incredibly old, a filthy yellowish color, and faded. He could only see the light on the other side, nothing definite.

On the other side of that glass, Tim didn't have that well of luck. Above him was a gigantic nozzle, but it was dry. He was standing in basically a gigantic funnel, to the left of him there was a small glass window, though it was incredible dirty, and a faded yellow color. There was a lock on it, and he knew that something important must be in there. Perhaps John, even. His arms were chained to the walls. He legs were chained to the wall in front of him and behind him, and the same went for his arms. What bothered him the most was that he couldn't see what they were chained to, they simply went throught a hole in the wall. But for the moment, he could freely move them now.

He suddenly heard a machine turn on, and the chains around him began to retreat into the walls. He was standing with his arms and legs pulled out in different directions. Suddenly the chains began to move again. He was dragged to the left, out of the sloped floor and away from the hole in the center. He realized Jigsaw could make him move in any direction he wanted. He was moved towards a table, and that table had a tape on it.

He knew what he had to do. He grabbed the tape, and waited for the chains to move him around again. This time he was dragged towards a counter, on the other side of the room in front of him. He put the tape in the player.

"Hello, Timmothy." Jigsaw's voice played. "Do you feel helpless? Like a puppet? Of course not. That is the only feeling you know, so you do not know otherwise. Like when you were a puppet for Michael. And like when Michael tried to make you kill Jimmy. And all of the other things he made you do, you never felt remorse, did you? You never tried to break the pattern, did you?"

There was a pause, a pause that Tim hated, and that Jigsaw would just keep talking.

"Well today you will be a puppet. Do you see that nozzle up above you? As soon as this tape is done playing, that nozzle will turn on. And a liquid will start gushing out. But that is no ordinary liquid, its called sulfuric acid. And every few minutes or so, a key will drop. You have two choices: You can try and catch the key, or you can take a shortcut out of my game. In that closet, to your right, two axes, a rope, a hole, a fake wooden board and a wooden shelf. If you can safely get the axe, you may use it to try and get through your chains."

Tim wondered what how he could use a hole. He began to ponder it, but the tape snapped him right back to reality.

"The last key that will be dropped is the key that opens up that glass window. Inside of it is the one you are trying to protect, John. If he dies, you too shall die. Do not think you can escape Jigsaw. This is what happens when you do..."

The lights dimmed, and the TV next to the tape player turned on.

It showed a man, in his mid-forties, in a small room. The floors were just wire, with many holes in them. Behind him, the walls were moving, and coming in closer. They were ragged with nails. In front of him, there was a keypad inside of the wall. Every so often, flames would shoot up from the floors, or something would drop on him. They were about the size of a basketball, and they were made of nothing but needles. They'd shatter as they'd hit the floor, and they'd fall through the holes, and Tim presumed they'd soon be dropped on him again.

The next man was chained into some strange contraption on his head, and he was in a long, narrow hallway. There was barely enough room to fit him, and at the end of the fifteen foot long mini-hallway there was a key, on top of a little nook. But there was a long, pointed wooden pole, only about an inch thick. For him to get the key, he needed to impail himself as he walked to the key. He spent alot of time hesitating, and he barely got the pole into him before his head was ripped off from his jaw.

The tape started playing again.

"The first man I found in Russia, hiding out from me. The second man was living a hundred and fifty miles away from any remote civilazation in northwestern India. Now that you know you can not hide...let me tell you, that catching the keys won't be easy. You may not use your hands, and my little puppetry device will see to that. If I see you trying to use your hands, I just might rip them off. You never know. How you catch them? Ha, that's your job to figure out..."

The tape stopped, and the nozzle began to spray. At first, the acid didn't bother him. But then, it got into his eyes, and it burned. All over him, the acid was burning, itching, causing the worst pain he could imagine. He felt the first key hit him in the head, and stepped on it as it was falling down the drain. He pushed it off to the side, and hunched over. Two keys hit him, and he didn't get either of them.

"No!" he yelled. "NO! NO NO NO!" The last key dropped right in front of him. He turned to the right. That closet, in that wall, was his last chance. He ran over, and his hand slipped as he tried to grab the knob. His entire body had spots that were bleeding now, and he was a pinkish color. All of his hair was gone. He stopped for a second, remebering what had happened to Michael.

He stepped off to the right, and swung the door open. He didn't hear anything. He looked in, and saw the axe on the shelf, which was about three feet off the ground. In such a hurry to pick it up, he didn't even think about what would happen to him. He grabbed it, and lifted.

What he didn't see was the string fed through a small hole in the wall, which had to be the fake wooden board. The other axe was set up in a trap, which he would never see, because as soon as he stood up, the other axe came right through the fake wall, and landed on his forehead, splitting it open. He was dead before he hit the ground.

John had no idea what that sound of rushing liquid was from, nor that sound that one can only associate with a skull being split open. A strange, yellow gas began to fill his chamber.

"Shit...not again!" he thought.

He awoke in a familiar place for a change. He was on some nice, soft earth, and the grass was cut the day before. He got up, and looked around. He was home, on his own front lawn.


End file.
